


There is No Angel at the End of this Book

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Case Fic, Gen, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Made Myself Cry, Original Character(s), Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why did a group of angels die in a Wisconsin diner? And what's their connection to a psychic's store? Dean, Sam and Castiel head on out to investigate, but find that there are more troubling forces at work than the fallen of Heaven.</p><p>Set during season 9, post "Road Trip".</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/post/124832219755/there-is-no-angel-at-the-end-of-this-book">Find this story on Tumblr here.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	There is No Angel at the End of this Book

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request fic for TonySilverwolf. (I can't tell you what he asked for here, as that would spoil things.)

A single idea can lead to the discovery that peanut butter and jelly go gorgeously together or land men on the moon. Butcher millions. Summon demons. Torture angels. Ideas are powerful things.

Before the Mark, Dean Winchester had never considered himself much above a run-of-the-mill hunter. Just because he and his brother had stopped an apocalypse or two. Even though he had been to hell and back. Spent a year surrounded by wall-to-wall monsters. No: Dean Winchester was not much above the average hunter. The difference was that he tended to be right under the fan when the crap hit it.

Ideas. Those were Sam’s business. Action. That was Dean’s business.

Whether or not the fallen angel Castiel, a being that had been friend and foe so many times, was around for clean-up was another matter. But someone needed to pick up and play. Like the one cornet player Dean saw jump in to a set at a smooth jazz lounge he’d visited with Eliot Ness. Back in his own time, whether Sam or Castiel was there, Dean preferred to pick up and play when he was given a choice.

Since coming back from Purgatory that is all Dean has wanted to do. Keep busy. Not think. Act. Fight the good fight. Hunt things. Save people. Play some pool. Drink some beer. Listen to some tunes. Fool around. Shovel some pie. The show must go on, after all, even when the band can’t be together.

Perhaps a bit of Benny, storming vamp of Purgatory, had rubbed off on him. But then in his darker moments at the bottom of a whiskey bottle, Dean would realise that even Benny had a plan. And once that bottle was empty, he’d remember bitterly about Sam leaving him there in Purgatory, that that had been his brother’s plan.

Dean needed to pick up and play. Find his tune, get a beat and stick to it. Maybe he had needed someone familiar at his side. It was with regret that Dean found he and Sam could no longer stay in time together. Their jams were hollow until Castiel’s reappearance. But then that had turned into its own hellish reunion, with blood, punches and pleading. God, it was all so fucked up.

Dean never chose any of this, but he would keep playing the fucking song, no matter how much he would have to improv. Just play a fucking tune. No matter how messy things got.

But when Sam had his idea and stuck to it. When Sam had brought everything to the brink. When Cas hadn’t been here nor there, again. Dean had to roll on the snare and keep the beat, because even with just a snare you could hold a set together. Hold, but only for so long.

In the moment it was all getting too much. Cas was there. Again. Broken, but there by Dean’s side. Stolen grace or not: the band was back together. Dean knew he needed Cas and Sam by his side.

Pick a beat, stick to the tune. Improvise as needed. Dodge the bottles and ignore any disgruntled audience members. Keep the band together.

*

Despite not being at full power, Castiel had insisted on joining Dean for this hunt in a tiny corner of Wisconsin. Sam had only just been persuaded to join - bitterness over Gadreel still fresh - but he knew his help was needed. There had been more angel-on-angel smitings and a few other odds and ends, connected - but no one knew how.

The town wasn’t anything special. Bar the sudden increase in law enforcement foot traffic. A diner’s worth of dead patrons can do that.

Dean, Sam and Cas had surveyed the scene, talked to the local cops and were back at the motel. This wasn’t the first angel bust-up the three had looked in on and neither of them thought it would be the last.

Still, something was different. Witnesses had reported seeing three of the vics, seemingly no connection apart than the diner, at a spiritualist’s store the morning before they all died.

“The store is owned by a Ms Tallulah Roberts. Got a healthy web order business on the side, does psychic readings too,” Sam said as he scrolled through the store’s website. Dean, Sam and Cas were in one of the two motel rooms they’d booked out for the investigation.

Cas was texting on his cell, in contact with a neutral party in regards to the angelic civil war that had been brought to Earth. Dean was cleaning his handgun.

“Anything special?” Dean asked as he wiped a soft cloth over the polished metal of his gun.

“Couple of newspaper reports from across the country. All about people claiming Roberts had managed to find lost heirlooms, contact their long dead family members. Y’know, usual psychic stuff,” Sam replied.

“I do not understand why angels would be interested in a psychic,” Castiel grumbled as he typed out another text message. The particular angel he was in communication with had few safe opportunities to speak.

“Shall we pay Ms Roberts a visit then, while there’s still daylight?” Dean got up from the bed, done with his gun. Sam closed his laptop lid and stood, checking his gun in the waistband of his Fed slacks before heading towards the door.

“You coming, Cas?” Dean asked as the angel continued to text.

“Of course, just one moment,” Cas replied, typing out another message on his cell. Apparently satisfied, he pocketed the cell in his own fed suit and stood.

*

A wave of incense hit Dean and Sam as they stepped into the psychic’s store first. In front of them was shelf, upon shelf stacked with huge chunks of gemstones and then varying sizes of offcuts, all the way down to stones no bigger than Dean’s little fingernail. It took up almost an entire long wall. They were all shades and hues, intricately formed and dominating most of the store. Dean felt his eyes drawn towards one particular grouping of stones, their shades a mixture of metallic blues, the colours changing as Dean moved.

Dean turned to make a wise crack to Cas, but found the angel had not followed them into the store.

“I’ll find Ms Roberts,” said Sam as he started walking past the stone display.

“I’ll go get Cas,” Dean said absently, heading back to the store.

Feet back on the curb, Dean looked up and down the street. But Cas was nowhere to be seen. He’d been right behind Dean as they’d walked up to the store doors. Dean pulled out his cell and dialed Castiel’s number, but it just rang and rang until it cut off.

He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but Dean was beginning to panic a little bit. There was no sign of Cas by or in Baby. He hadn’t seen anything out of place as he stepped into the store. The angel was gone, with no trace. Dean looked up and around the street, trying to see if there were any CCTV cameras in the area. They’d need the footage anyway for investigating the angels.

Dean sent Sam a quick text, not mentioning Cas, just that he was heading to the only police station in town. It was only a block away, so he left the Impala by the curb and headed there on foot.

A few badge flashes and short sentences later and Dean was looking at some grainy footage that captured the entrance to Ms Roberts’ store. He looked for Cas first, only winding the footage back thirty minutes. And he was there, right behind Sam and him and then-

“Gone,” Dean muttered to himself, brow creased in confusion. One frame Cas was there, the next, after Dean and Sam were fully in the shop, he was gone. Dean knew full well that Cas couldn’t just fly away, no angels could since The Fall.

Dean’s cell vibrated - Sam was calling him. Answering the call, Dean tried to keep back any sense of panic from his voice. “Yo, anything from the town’s favourite psychic?” Dean asked.

“She’s, uh, still freaked out a little from when three of the vics showed up at the same time. I don’t know if this is good news, but I think she is the real deal. Still no idea why a bunch of angels would be interested in her. Anything in the footage?”

“Just winding back there to three days ago now.”

“Okay, I’ll be over in a minute. Is Cas with you?”

Dean was about to say no, when he caught a glimpse of Castiel walking in through the front doors to the station. The angel flashed his badge, spotted Dean, waved and walked on over.

“Dean?” Sam called down the phone.

“Uh, yeah, he’s here,” Dean finally replied to Sam. “Yeah, meet us at the station.” Dean hung up.

“Did the angels visit the store?” Castiel asked as he took a seat beside Dean to look at the monitor.

“Uh, dude, where did you disappear to?” Dean asked, looking Castiel over, trying to find something out of place. “Why didn’t you answer your cell?”

“Dean, I am unsure what you are referring to, but I assure you I did not “disappear” anywhere. That is not currently something I am capable of doing, as you well know. And my cellphone did not ring.” Castiel was all matter of fact. His voice light and easy. Naomi was gone, but Dean couldn’t help being reminded of before.

Dean moved the footage back to just before Sam, Dean and Cas went into the store. “Then how do you explain this, Cas?” Dean played the footage.

Watching Castiel carefully, Dean looked for any sign of something not being quite right with the angel. But there was just Cas’s usual furrowed brows when he concentrated on something.

“I-I do not understand,” Cas muttered, his voice sounding genuinely unsure.

“You’re there and then you’re not, Cas.”

Sam’s tall frame came into view, and Dean waved his brother over as Sam flashed his badge. There was a growing sense of unease in the pit of Dean’s stomach.

Of course Sam instantly picks up on the unease rolling off of Dean, the way he’s leaning a little away from Castiel.

“Something up?” Sam asks, standing behind the two of them.

“Watch this,” Dean said as he swiftly reset the clip and played the footage of them entering the store.

“I don’t-” Sam stopped mid sentence as Castiel vanished off screen.

“Cas didn’t follow us into the store, in fact he’s nowhere else in this footage. I tried finding him after you went in the store and-”

Dean noticed Castiel shifting uncomfortably beside him. Dean’s head felt a little light, but he blinked the sensation away.

“Cas?” Sam asked lightly.

Standing from his seat, Castiel frowned at the monitor. His confusion seemed genuine, but Dean and Sam couldn’t help remembering what had happened less than a year ago.

“I have no explanation,” Castiel stated simply, eyes still on the paused footage.

Sam gently put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and Dean watched Cas’s face carefully. “Cas, do you remember being by the store and then coming here?”

“No.”

“Sam?” Dean hoped his brother had an idea.

Sam put a hand through his hair and looked back at the screen briefly. “Sorry, Dean, I’ve got nothing.”

The beat was faltering.

Dean went back to the footage and raced to the segment from when the angels were meant to have gone into the store. “Maybe, maybe one of the angels that did the hit at the diner pulled some angel mojo or something.”

“It is possible,” Castiel volunteered.

The CCTV footage reached the morning that three of the vics entered Ms Roberts’ store at the same time. Apart from them entering the store all at the same time, nothing looked out of place. The footage showed nothing of use. They checked the moment the three left, and several days either side, but nothing else shed light on the case. Or Castiel.

When they finally left the station and returned to the Impala, night was setting in.

“How about we stop by the motel and then hit a bar?” Sam suggested, clearly trying to make Dean feel less on edge.

“Uh, sure,” Dean replied. “Might as well head back to the store tomorrow, maybe Cas’ll pick up on something.”

*

Things were hazy. Dean wasn’t sure when the bartender had agreed to hand over the entire bottle of whiskey, but Dean was nearing the end of it and Sam had so far failed to convince him to turn in for the night. Dean didn’t feel right and it was not because of all the booze, the whiskey bottle having served as a chaser to about eight bottles of beer.

Castiel and Sam had stayed close in conversation. Dean didn’t blame Sam for maintaining his distance from his brother, but Dean would be lying if he said that it didn’t hurt. Getting up to go to the bathroom, Dean looked in the mirror that lined the back of the bar, and he could see himself and Sam, but where was Cas?

Dean turned to look back at Sam and Cas’s table. Cas was there. Dean looked in the mirror again. Cas was there. Shaking his head, Dean carefully walked to the men’s bathroom.

No one else was inside as he picked out a urinal and went for a piss. Washing his hands, ignoring the mirror in front of him, Dean tried not to focus on a feeling he had. That he was about to be the only one on the stage, totally off-key and with no beat.

*

Before he got his four hours, Dean rolled out of bed, a cold sweat making his t-shirt stick to his back. He stumbled into the motel bathroom, found the toilet and proceeded to chuck up so loud he woke up Sam.

There was a knock at the door. “Hey, you okay dude?” Sam asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Dean’s stomach felt like it was filled with slithering, coiling snakes. He was not hungover. He hadn’t drunk enough, for him, to get into this state. It didn’t feel like food poisoning. His head, on the other hand, seemed halfway to relieving the highlights of the vampirism cure he’d suffered through several years ago.

Everything seemed extra loud and bright. If he had to guess, it felt like he was coming off of something. Coming down. Crashing.

“Sam…” Dean managed weakly before another wave of sickness hit him.

Sam opened the door and looked down at his shaking brother’s back. He was still pissed off at all the Gadreel business, but Dean was not in a good way.

“I’ll get Cas. Maybe he can do something,” Sam called and shuffled out of their room.

They found Dean hanging onto the toilet bowl for dear life. His breathing shallow, sweat pouring out of him. Sam was more awake by then and as he peered at his brother, he was reminded of what had happened to one of his college friends after they tried to go cold turkey from heroin. It seemed about as pretty, but Dean wasn’t using as far as Sam knew.

Except for the bottles he put away. Night after night.

Castiel bent down towards Dean, and his fingers were refreshingly cool as he touched them to Dean’s forehead. The change was quick and Dean felt his body relax and the world tone down to normal.

“Better?” Castiel asked in his usual gruff voice, pulling away from Dean.

Dean nodded as he stood up and pulled the handle. Sam and Cas left him as he cleaned himself up. Returning to his bed, Dean noticed he was alone with Sam again.

“You gonna be-” started Sam.

“I’m fine, Sam. Musta been that burrito I had. Anyway, why do you care all of a sudden? I thought we weren’t supposed to be brothers?”

At that, Sam looked at the floor. “Dean, I-” Sam sighed and shook his head. Instead of finishing his sentence he went to his bed and crawled back under his sheets. He turned off his lamp. Sam’s back was to Dean.

Sitting down on the edge of his own bed, Dean rubbed his face in his hands. He didn’t want to think. But he had no idea how to act.

*

A couple of donuts and hot coffee inside him, Dean almost felt human again. The store was open at ten and they were there bright and early. Dean opened the doors, with Cas right behind him and Sam behind Cas. The wall of gemstones and minerals was still there and as Dean stepped over the threshold, there was a stifled cry from Sam.

“Dean, DEAN!” Sam almost shouted.

“What’s the matter, Sammy. Seen-” Dean spun round to look at his brother. Castiel was no longer with them.

“He was there and then-” Sam’s eyes were wide open in shock, his hands pointing at the spot Cas was standing until a few seconds ago.

A woman’s voice called out from behind them. “Sam! You came back. And this must be Dean.”

Turning to look in the store, Dean was greeted by Tallulah Roberts. The psychic wasn’t much older than them and dressed pretty unassumingly in jeans, a loose fitting band t-shirt and too many bangles. Her feet were bare and her hair was in a large bun at the back of her head.

“Ms Roberts knows our names, Sam,” Dean said through a smile and partially gritted teeth. “But more to the matter at hand: where the hell is Castiel?”

“Is that that angel you were telling me about yesterday, Sam?” Asked Tallulah.

Dean felt uncomfortable with how much she seemed to know about them. Dean glared at Sam and Sam could only shrug and grimace.

“Um, yeah, but, um, we’ll be back later. We need to find him.”

*

The two of them had circled back to the motel when Castiel seemed to appear out of nowhere again. They’d called his cell half a dozen times and gotten nothing. He took longer to come back than the previous day.

Dean was feeling like he was on the verge of being sick again as Sam finished checking that Cas was Cas. None of this felt right. There was a nervousness at the core of Dean that made him feel like everything was falling out of place. That the beat was dying and the tune would soon follow.

Sam sent Cas on a snacks run after he was sure the angel was himself. Not long after Cas left, Sam asked Dean to come and look at his laptop screen. There was a picture of Tallulah's stones display up on Sam’s screen.

“Why are we looking at rocks, Sam?”

“Here,” Sam handed Dean a small blue stone. Only it wasn’t just one shade of blue, the color changed as Dean shifted the gem in his hand.

“What is this?”

“Labradorite, it’s meant to block psychic energies. One of the few gemstones documented at actually being protective in that way.”

“Still not getting the picture.”

Sam sighed and shoved a handful of hair out of his face. “I want to see if it’s got something to do with the stones and this is the only type in the front of the store that has power.”

“What, rose quartz not gonna cut it?”

“Surprisingly, no. Look, when Cas comes back, I want you to hold on to that stone.”

“Okay, but,” Dean looked down at the stone in his hand, “what about those other angels? Did it affect them?”

“No and that’s why we need to be sure if it’s the stone or something else.”

Dean noticed just how tiny the stone was compared to some of the hunks from the store. “Will the size matter?”

“Uh…”

The door opened and Cas started walking inside into the room. Hands full with grocery bags, everything seemed normal and then the bags fell to the floor. Dean stood in front of Cas with Sam at his side. Cas was a translucent and insubstantial.

“What- what is happening to me?” Cas asked, his voice carrying a note of panic, while also sounding less real.

Dean opened his hand and showed Cas the stone. “Sam, size matters.”

Despite the quip, Dean could feel his heart beginning to race. Even with all the weird shit he’d run into over the years, he’d not encountered anything like this. He felt scared for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

“What is happening to me?” Cas repeated his question. Sam knelt down beside the angel and picked up the dropped grocery bags. Sam had a theory, the stone confirmed it, but he didn’t want to believe it.

Didn’t want to say it. It had been so long since they’d encountered one. And to think that this had been going on for so long.

“Sam?” Dean asked, his voice a little shaky.

“Dean, Cas isn’t Cas. Cas is a… Sorry, but I think Cas is a Tulpa.” Sam looked between Dean and Cas, checking they had heard him.

“Nononononononononononono…” Dean repeated. He didn’t want to believe, didn’t want to, but deep down, a tiny corner of him knew.

The beat was lost.

The angel, or whatever it was, looked between the two brothers. The look on its face was a mixture of confusion and fear. Dean felt like the floor was giving away from underneath him and Sam watched as Castiel blinked out of existence as Dean collapsed, unconscious, to the motel floor.

*

Dean came to, laid out on his bed. Sam was watching him from his own bed, a look of fear on his face. Sam’s face was red from crying. There was no sign of Castiel.

“Dean?” Sam asked, his voice hoarse.

Dean sat up. “Sammy, is he, has he?”

Sam shook his head.

“How long?” Dean asked. Sam knew he didn’t mean how long had been unconscious for.

“I dunno… probably since the Leviathan burst from him? His vessel was, y’know...”

Dean knew. But he hadn’t wanted to believe. He’d kept hope, kept that one idea. He knew how powerful ideas could be. Knew how dangerous they could be. But Cas-

“Cas… I didn’t… I couldn’t. Sam, I- Fuck. I-”

“Created a Tulpa so strong, so real, it caused the downfall of Heaven. Everyone else must have just fed off of what you believed. Christ, this is-” Sam couldn’t finish his train of thought and Dean didn’t blame him. He was finding it pretty damn difficult to bring his thoughts together.

Dean pushed himself off of the bed. And started to pace. “What about last night?”

“Um, probably a side effect of having all the psychic energy rebound back into yourself, may-” Sam didn’t finish, as Dean sprinted for the bathroom and the toilet bowl.

*

How do you say goodbye to someone you thought was alive until a day ago? What do you do when there’s no grave to pour a bottle of Johnnie Walker over?

Sam drove Dean and Baby back to Kansas. To the last place Castiel was seen.

The lake.

Dean was first out of the car, a bottle of Johnnie Walker in hand and tears threatening to spill. Dusk was upon them. Standing at the water’s edge, Dean couldn’t unclench his jaw. He was unsure if he was angry or sad. In pain or relieved.

Pain won. His heart was breaking. Robotically, he spun the lid off of the bottle and upended the whiskey into the blue water. Sam was stood by his side, silent. Before all the amber liquid was gone, Dean took a swig and offered it to Sam who joined him, before helping to tip the rest of the liquid into the lake.

Dean finally unclenched his jaw. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his chest tight. The tears finally curling down his cheeks.

Sam’s large right hand reached out to Dean, and Dean let himself be drawn into a sideways hug as they continue looking out at the water. He heard Sam’s muffled sobs. An idea had tried to keep Dean safe. An idea had fucked up everything.

“We, uh, still need to find out what those angels wanted with that psychic,” stated Sam as he looked out across the lake.

Dean sniffed. “No, no we don’t. It doesn’t matter, Sam. None of it. There’s no one in or out of heaven now on our damn side. No one.”

“Dean-”

“None of it matters Sam. We are fucked either way, as far as I can see. And you know what? I don’t think I care anymore.”

Taking in a huge breath, Dean shrugged out of Sam’s half-hug and started back towards the Impala. Sam followed close behind.

“Dean-”

Spinning around to face his brother, Dean’s chest was heaving, his face contorted in pain. “I’m done, Sam. I really am. I can’t… three years, Sam. Three years. He’s been gone for three years and I didn’t know.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm afraid I can't send any of you any tissues, but um, the request was this heart breaking.
> 
> Thanks to [Zeryx](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeryx/pseuds/Zeryx) for beta reading this for me and helping me to un-mangle my metaphors.
> 
> You can check in with me over at [Dreams from the Bunker](http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/).


End file.
